


Hannibal Lecter's On Ways of Preventing Sleepwalking

by willgrahamismycopilot (coffee_slut)



Series: Hannibal Lecter's Psychology Series [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Fic, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, a different type of therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_slut/pseuds/willgrahamismycopilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's sleepwalking again.  Hannibal knows what to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic for the Hannibal fandom, so I apologize for any mistakes in character.
> 
> Also, not beta'd. If you find any mistakes, please let me know.

Will Graham wakes up sticky, covered in sweat. He allows his eyes to adjust before looking at the pale blue numbers of his digital alarm clock. 2:15 in the morning. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic. He wonders for a second why he doesn’t just keep a stack of towels in the nightstand drawer, then ambles out to the bathroom to get one.

The path to the bathroom doesn’t require Will’s eyesight any more. Which is good, he thinks, because the nightmare that woke him has mostly gone away and the shadows won’t be quite so daunting with his eyes open. Will doesn’t even need to pass his hand along the walls in the dark of the empty hallway.

The soft padding sounds of Winston accompany Will though he doesn't notice them at first. He doesn't notice them until the dog puts its cold nose in his palm.

Will opens his eyes then, reaching back to pat Winston's head or scratch his ears, but the dog isn't there. That's weird, Will thinks, swiping his hand across his sweat covered forehead. The thought doesn't cross his mind again.  
Somewhere in the house, water drips. And drips. Will wonders briefly if he forgot to turn off the bathroom tap, then the water stops dripping. It starts pouring from the sink instead, wet sounds the only thing Will can hear.

He reaches into the bathroom to switch on the light. Will blinks, suddenly enveloped in brightness. He doesn't see the water in the bath tub overflowing until it runs over his toes. Well crap. Didn't he turn it off after his shower? He groans and moves to turn it off.

The pale grey face of Garrett Jacob Hobbs stares up at Will from under the liquid surface, blank eyes blue and haunting when they meet the detective's. A full-body shudder rips through Will and he opens his mouth to scream. The only sound is Hobbs, repeating his last words. "See? See?"

Will backs out of the bathroom, flipping the light switch to the off position. A chunk of ice settles in his stomach when the light doesn't turn off. Hobbs rises out of the water slowly, levitating like when Will dreamed of Elise Nichols. He turns his head at an impossible angle to bore his gaze into Will's.

"See? See?"

What would be a scream lodges itself in the detective's throat right underneath his chin to cut off the air flow. No, no, no, no. Dizziness twists Will's stomach and legs and he falls in a heap by the bathroom door, struggling to suck in what little bit of tainted air that he can.

"I'm gonna kill you, Will Graham," Hobbs hisses.

A sickening chant of "Kill Will" bounces behind the detective's eyes as the bathroom walls melt and drip like distorted crayons. Despite the bathroom light, Will Graham's room fades to black to the tune of "Kill Will. Kill Will. Kill Will."

Something in the dark latches on to Will's shoulder and shakes it. He moves to push whatever it is away, mumbling what could be interpreted as "Leave me alone," until he discovers that it's a hand.

"Will? Will, wake up." The voice is soothing, familiar, and Will recognizes where he is before he even opens his eyes. “You're safe now, Will. Open your eyes and look at me."

"Doctor Lecter," Will groans and peels his eyes open with his fingers. He presses the heels of his palms against his eye sockets until his vision blurs and returns to normal.

Hannibal says nothing, just gazing down at Will with tired eyes until the other man speaks. He tightens the sash of his robe.

"What time is it?" Will asks. "How did I get here?" His head lolls on his shoulders, forcing him to slump forward against his knees.

"It's four am and you're in Baltimore, Maryland." Hannibal extends a hand to the man on the floor. "I'm assuming you drove here since your feet and legs appear to be fine. Please come in."

Will attempts to stand, but his legs are shaky like his breathing. He reaches to the wall for support. "I don't even remember leaving my house," he mumbles. "I woke up at 2:15 to get a towel and now I'm here."

"So you lost time." It isn't a question but Will nods anyway. Hannibal puts out a hand to steady the other man, placing it on his shoulder. "I'll make some tea. Come on."

Will trips over his own feet as Doctor Lecter guides him in. He falls to his knees and then faceplants into the carpet of Hannibal's office before the psychiatrist can catch him. "I think I'd be better off here on the floor, Doctor. Clearly I can't walk three feet without screwing it up."

Hannibal chuckles and helps Will to his feet. "Just come sit in a chair and I will bring the tea to you." He leads Will to one of the black padded chairs they usually sit across from each other in, sitting the man down carefully.

"I'm sorry I'm being so much of a pain in your ass, Doctor Lecter." Will glances at his feet before he looks at the face of the doctor.

"I assure you, Will, it is no trouble." There's softness behind the words that Will doesn't pick up on.

"Surely I woke you up? This is such an ungodly hour."

Hannibal's face splits into a smile. "Like I just said, it is no trouble. My home is always open to friends no matter how ungodly the hour. Now if you would excuse me, I will go make us some tea."

Will nods and stares at his hands, the nightmare still pulsing in his head. Hobbs’ face won’t fade, not completely, nor will his rasping voice. It’s still right there just as vivid as it was only minutes before. Like a clingy animal, Will can’t shake it away. He wonders if it will haunt him until his dying day. Then he realizes that the answer to that is most likely. Everything else he sees seems to haunt him. Why not add one more thing to the never-ending list?

He doesn’t even realize he dozed off until Hannibal lightly touches his shoulder. The touch, though gentle, makes Will jump with a start.

“I apologize for startling you,” Hannibal says. “I don’t know how you take your tea, so I brought the entire set.” He puts the tray down on the glass side table and offers Will the steaming mug.

“Just plain, thanks,” Will grumbles and takes a sip of the dark liquid. It reminds him of coffee: bitter but comforting.

“This blend will help you find a deep sleep.”

Deep sleep? “Doctor Lecter, I have to get home to my dogs. It’s after four in the morning.”

“I am well aware of the time, Will.” Hannibal chuckles. “I think it best for you to sleep here. That way if you sleepwalk again, I’ll be there to stop you from going too far.”

Will drinks more of the tea. He decides it doesn’t taste so bad, drinks half of it in one gulp. “What about your appointments?”

“What about them?”

“Won’t I be a bother to them, being in here?” Will drains the remaining half of his tea.

Hannibal shakes his head in amused disbelief. “You won’t be sleeping in here. I think you’ll find my bed to be quite suitable.”

“Your… What?” Will blinks and scratches his head, separating the patches of hair dried with sweat.

“My bed. There’s one other thing that will help with your sleepwalking, and because I’m the nearest person to you, I will be the one to help.”

Will’s heart skips a beat. He hasn’t shared a bed with anyone in a long time, and certainly never another man. “You don’t mean… We’re not gonna…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Of course not, Will. That is better for stress relief.” Hannibal makes a sound of amusement. “No, this will be simple physical contact and nothing more.”

Will works through that in his head. “So you’re telling me we’re going to cuddle because it’ll stop me from sleepwalking?”

“If that’s what you’d like to call it, then yes. Cuddling is a type of physical therapy, after all.”

It’s enough to convince Will. One time can’t hurt, especially if it helps. He shrugs and puts his empty tea mug back on Hannibal’s tray. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.” His attempt to stand fails drastically, and he slumps back into the chair. “Let’s try that again.” This time, his balance wobbles but Hannibal steadies him.

“Come. Let’s get you into bed.” Hannibal leads Will forward with a hand between his shoulder blades and another on his arm. He decides the tea service can wait until morning.

The two men make their way to Hannibal’s bedroom. Hannibal pushes the door closed behind them and turns on the light. 

“The less you are wearing, the better this will work.”

“Are you suggesting I remove my clothes, Doctor Lecter?” Will frowns, less than pleased by the idea.

“That is exactly what I’m suggesting. I need you to trust me.”

Will pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor out of habit. He doesn’t notice the doctor’s cringe of disgust, but thinks better of just leaving it on the ground and drapes it over the chair in the corner. “That’s all I’m taking off,” he says. “I’m not about to sleep naked with another person.”

“It will be enough.” Hannibal slips off his robe and hangs it on the hook behind the door.

“Just promise me that nothing else will happen.”

Hannibal peels back the sheets and blankets of his bed. “I promise you that nothing will happen on my end. This may feel strange at first, but I encourage you to focus on relaxing.”

Will snorts a half-laugh. “Nothing on your end. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I will do nothing but lie there unless you request otherwise. Now come here before I change my mind.”

Will clambers into the bed, the deep-sleep-inducing tea beginning to kick in. The mattress is softer than he expected and he sinks in slightly. If only his own bed was this comfortable…

“Make yourself comfortable first,” Hannibal instructs. He waits until Will has settled himself on his side to get in.

Will yawns and snuggles into the pillow. “’M ready,” he mumbles.

Hannibal wraps himself around Will until as much of their skin is touching as possible, until they’re chest to back and leg to leg. The other man tenses at first, obviously unused to such contact. “Just focus on your breathing,” he whispers against Will’s hair.  
A few minutes pass before Will relaxes. Hannibal’s clinging reminds him of one of his girlfriends in college. He has a sudden urge to roll to his other side. So he asks if it’s okay.

“This is about you, Will. Anything you want to do is okay.” Hannibal loosens his hold for Will to turn over.

Will tucks his arms against his chest and rolls to face Hannibal. He inhales deeply and relaxes again, leaning his head against Hannibal’s sternum. It’s not much longer before sleep takes him. He doesn’t dream.

A few hours later, when the sun begins to peek through the curtains, Will wakes again. Natural instinct tells him to fight his restraints. He gets the better of instinct once he remembers where he is and settles back into the grasp of the psychiatrist. It does feel nice, after all. It’s comfort he hasn’t had in a long time.

“I trust you slept well?” Hannibal asks softly. He loosens his hold on Will.

Will nods. “Yeah.” He yawns and stretches slightly, then curls up right back where he was. He’ll never admit to liking it. Hannibal will probably be able to tell anyways.

“Then perhaps you should do that every night.” Hannibal props himself on his elbow, gazing down at Will, who snorts.

“With who? I know a ton of people who want to just sleep with a mentally unstable special agent.” Will rolls his eyes.

“As I’ve said, my home is always open to friends. I can arrange for you and your dogs to stay here for a while if you’d like.”

"Why would you do that, Doctor Lecter?" Will frowns in confusion.

"Because I want you to get better."

Will exhales and sits up. "I'll go home and pack a few things and come back up around lunchtime."

Hannibal watches as Will redresses himself. "Make sure to bring your dogs and their supplies, too. If I'm in an appointment, please let yourself in."

"Thank you, Doctor Lecter." Will waves as he leaves. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things progress and there are unnecessary arguments.

Will is greeted by Winston as soon as he walks in the door. He pats his head and offers no explanations as to where he’s been for the last—he glances at his watch—six hours. He walks into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

After his small breakfast, Will sets about packing his things. He doesn’t take much, just some clothing, towels and toiletries, and his laptop. He spends most of his time home gathering the stuff for all his dogs. He’s finished by nine, but still has to get all the dogs into his little car. That could get interesting, Will thinks, and it’ll be nothing short of an adventure.

“Who wants to go for a ride?” he asks, clapping his hands.

Winston is the only dog not wary of the offer; he runs to the front door wagging his tail. The others are still not excited about going places in the car. Will sighs and lets Winston out first, murmuring about what a good boy he is. When he gets back in, the others are still no closer to excited about a ride than they were.

“Ugh. For the love of God,” Will groans. “Come on. Let’s go for a ride. In the car.”

He manages to round up all the dogs in just less than fifteen minutes—no small feat—and then he’s ready to head out for the drive back to Baltimore.

The drive is relatively uninteresting, both to Will and the dogs. Winston is in the passenger seat curled up while the rest of the dogs reign chaos in the back. Will is relieved they can’t get to the trunk where all the food is; two large kennels and a stack of boxes prevent such things from happening. There’s no way it could end well if one of them got into the trunk.

Halfway to Baltimore, when Will makes a stop for gas, he greatly regrets having so many dogs in the car. It’s ‘roll down the windows’ one minute and ‘open the sunroof’ the next and ‘never mind close it all’ the next, and Will decides that there are too many demands to keep up with that he just yells at them all to sit and be quiet.

“We’ll be there in half an hour, for God’s sake,” he snaps. “Lie down and knock it off.”

The half-hour passes quickly, and Will’s pulling into the familiar driveway of Hannibal Lecter’s home. The change in scenery sends the dogs into another frenzy of barking and yowling; Will has to screech over their havoc to quiet them.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Behave yourselves. Winston’s in charge for now.” Will puts the windows down slightly before he gets out and locks the car doors behind him.

As expected, Hannibal is still in an appointment when Will goes in. The soft voice of the psychiatrist comes through the waiting room door along with an unfamiliar voice Will assumes is the patient’s. Will ignores it and continues into Hannibal’s kitchen. It’s only a few minutes to eleven, according to the clock on the wall. Hannibal would arrive any moment. At least, Will hoped so. Lunchtime had always been a vague term to him.

The clock strikes eleven with a small chime. Hannibal arrives shortly after that. “Did your dogs make the trip well?” he asks. “And was your trip well?”

Will nods. “The dogs are in my car. There are eight of them. Is that okay?”

Hannibal smiles warmly. “There is plenty of room in the yard for them to play. Let’s get your things into the house and then I’ll make some lunch. Does that sound alright to you?”

“Yes. Thank you, Doctor Lecter.” Will stands up and pushes in the chair he was using. “Should we get the dogs first?”

“If you would prefer.” Hannibal motions for Will to lead the way.

It’s then that the absolute strangeness of the situation hits Will like one of his night terrors. He decides to keep the thought to himself while they make their way to his car. It might be too soon to bring up any questions, Will thinks.

Winston is more than happy to see Will after being locked in the car for a whole fifteen minutes. The other dogs, as per their usual, are less than pleased with their adopted father’s presence. They don’t care to get out of the car and explore the strange new world of Doctor Lecter’s home.

Will opens the car door and the dogs bound from their confines. Luckily, Hannibal’s left the gate open and they all run nicely into the yard. Except Winston, of course. He stays at Will’s side while he unpacks the two kennels and boxes of bowls and food. Hannibal carries two of the boxes and Will takes the other two.

“I appreciate that you’re doing this for me, Doctor.” Will shifts the weight of the boxes. “It isn’t awkward for you at all, is it?” The question slips from his lips before he can clamp his mouth down around it.

“Of course not, Will.” Hannibal offers a reassuring smile. “I find few things awkward, and this is not one of them. There is no need for worry.”

Hannibal’s answer only brings up more questions that Will doesn’t ask. It’s really none of his business anyway. Though he can’t keep the thoughts about Lecter’s comfort and reason from his head. Maybe the doctor simply does want him to get better and there’s no further reason or need to wonder.

Will follows Hannibal to a corner of the yard and puts his boxes on the ground next to the boxes the psychiatrist carried over. He returns to his car to get the two kennels. With one in each hand, he carries them to where everything else is. That just leaves his bag of belongings.

“Please tell me you brought some things for yourself,” Hannibal says.

“Yeah. It just isn’t as much as what the dogs have.” Will wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Bring it inside and I’ll make lunch.”

Will goes back once more to his car and grabs the final two things: a laptop carrier and a plastic trash bag filled with everything else. A pang of embarrassment flashes through him at the utter lack of stuff in his possession. It worsens when Hannibal cocks an eyebrow at the little parcels.

“Is that all?” the psychiatrist asks.

“I told you it wasn’t much,” Will mutters, and a dark flush spreads over his skin from ears to chest.

“Come put your bags in the living room for now.” Hannibal leads the way and Will follows him. The dogs are too busy running around the yard to notice the men leaving.

Hannibal closes the gate behind them on their way to the front door. “While you’re here, you’ll have permission to go in any room except my office. I also ask that you stay out of the kitchen when I’m not in there.”

A simple enough request, Will thinks. He follows Hannibal up the stairs and down a hallway to what he assumes is the living room. It’s more of a sitting room, really, filled mostly with chairs and small tables. There’s a stack of psychology textbooks on the nearest table. The room is smaller than what Will expected it to be, especially with as many guests as Doctor Lecter entertains on a regular basis.

“You can put your bag in the corner for now.” Hannibal motions to the corner by the door on the opposite side of the room. Will does, and follows him into the kitchen.

“I hope you’re not opposed to sandwiches for lunch. I’m afraid I didn’t have much time to prepare anything worth eating.”

“Sandwiches are perfectly fine, Doctor.” Will’s stomach makes a gurgly noise to emphasize his point.

Hannibal laughs lightly. “How many should I make you?”

“A couple would be nice,” Will says, not wanting to be too greedy.

“That is hardly an acceptable answer, Will. How many sandwiches would you like?”

“Um. Two.” Will gulps in air, prepared to be told that two is too many sandwiches. That response never comes.

“Much better. Two it is.” Hannibal gathers the ingredients to make sandwiches: no-doubt handmade bread, some kind of chunky-looking spread, and a variety of meats and vegetables. He quickly assembles and plates four sandwiches. “I know that this is no sort of a fancy meal, but bon appetit.” He presents a plate to Will and they eat.

Will focuses on not scarfing the food down like some starving dog given its first meal in weeks, even though it’s what he feels like. He hasn’t identified the spread, though it’s gritty and tastes mostly like garlic. That’s as much as he cares to tell.

“Skordalia,” Hannibal says. “Greek garlic hummus. It balances the flavor of the lamb and goes well with vegetables.”

“It’s very good,” Will says between bites. “Thank you, Doctor Lecter.”

The men finish their lunch in silence, save for Will’s pleased noises at the sandwich in his hands. Hannibal only smirks at the response and carries away the plates when they’re finished. Will dries them and places them on a rack.

“Shall we set your room up?” Hannibal asks on the way back into the living room.

“I thought I was staying in yours.” A frown spreads across Will’s face.

“You’ll be _sleeping_ in my room,” Hannibal corrects gently. “I thought you might want your own space during the day, a place to relax between cases with Jack Crawford.”

“I appreciate it. My own space would be wonderful.” Will swallows the burp that threatens to explode from his throat.

“There’s a guest room at the end of the hallway I think you’ll find to your liking. It’s directly above the kitchen.”

Will laughs. “Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

“The only other guest room is downstairs under the kitchen. It’s much colder there.” Hannibal directs Will to the room, stopping to collect the garbage bag full of Will’s belongings.

It takes Will a whopping total of three minutes to put his sparse amount of clothing in the dresser drawers. He decides to stuff the stack of towels in another drawer just in case. Better than leaving them on the floor, he thinks.

There’s a soft knock at the door a few minutes later. Will says to come in and the door opens to reveal Hannibal.

“You have some visitors,” the doctor says.

“I’ll be right down.” Will glances around to make sure he’s put everything away before following Doctor Lecter down to the living room.

Jack and Alana have occupied two of the many chairs. A flash of something unidentifiable fills Will, and he flinches when Alana speaks.

“Why didn’t you say you were here?” she demands. “We were worried sick! You could have been dead!”

Jack places a hand on her shoulder. “Doctor Bloom. You’re overreacting.” Alana stops, so Jack Crawford continues. “You didn’t come in to work and you didn’t call. You didn’t even return our calls. We thought something might have happened. Why didn’t you call?”

Will rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly? The thought never crossed my mind. I’m sorry. I was busy.”

“You were busy.” Jack’s tone is flat, bored even. “Doing what? Moving in with Doctor Lecter?”

“It’s only temporary, Jack,” Hannibal says, and Will’s grateful he doesn’t have to answer.

“Temporary.” Crawford’s unspoken message is clear. It doesn’t take a behavioral analyst to figure it out: he thinks there’s something going on between Will and Hannibal, even though there isn’t.

Alana’s pained look doesn’t go unnoticed by Will. A twinge of guilt flashes over his features, but he doesn’t correct Jack’s assumption. Neither does Hannibal.

“I’ll be back to work tomorrow,” Will promises. “Today was just one of those days where I forgot. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not happen again.” Crawford crosses his arms menacingly. He doesn’t realize that threats don’t work on Will.

“I think we should go,” Alana says quietly. “I’ll find someone to fill in for him.”

“Y’know, you never struck me as that type,” Jack says.

Irritated at the ridiculous assumption, Will splutters. “We’re not… no, I’m not…” He can’t get his sentence out.

“It’s nothing like that, Jack,” Hannibal says. “Will’s sleepwalking has worsened and I thought it best to keep him here a few nights to ensure his safety.”

Jack is not amused. “Whatever. Just be to work tomorrow and there won’t be a problem.”

Alana all but drags Crawford from Hannibal’s living room. Will can hear some sort of argument between them as they get farther away. He rolls his eyes and scrubs a hand over his face.

“Ugh,” the special agent groans. “I could have gone all day without that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for reading. If there's something you would like to see happen, please let me know in the comments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are unnecessary questions, unnecessary arguments, and an appearance from Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Also, Jack Crawford is a dick.
> 
> WARNING; THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND GORE. IT WILL NOT AFFECT STORYLINE SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO SKIP IT FOR THAT REASON.

The end of lunch finds Will in the yard with his dogs. He sighs and stands on the patio while one of the larger pets does its business, then collects it with a plastic bag he dug out of the boxes. There’s nowhere to put it, so Will leaves it atop a kennel to throw away later.

Winston trots happily at his side the entire time, panting and swishing his tail. The dog sits when Will takes a toy from the box and runs after the ball when it leaves the man’s hand. He brings it back once, like any dog would, before losing interest in the game. Will sighs when Winston goes to find shade.

Having nothing left to do, Will returns to the patio and occupies one of the chairs that undoubtedly cost more than his entire month’s paycheck. May as well stay cool while doing nothing. Will stares out at the dogs as they play, realizing that he could just go inside where there’s air conditioning, but decides to remain outside so as not to hinder Doctor Lecter any more than he already is. He avoids thinking for as long as he can.

Lack of thinking, as most people know, encourages dozing off. Especially in Will’s case. His eyes open to growing darkness and a dog snuffling at his hand. The sun is beginning its slow descent beneath the horizon, leaving the sky in an array of oranges. When did it get so late? Will rubs his eyes and stretches.

The sniffing of the dog becomes insistent, and Will is very relieved that it isn’t the stag that plagues his dreams. Pleading eyes meet the man’s hazy ones. One set of eyes turns into eight pairs of eyes within seconds. That’s when Will realizes the time and groans.

“Hold on, hold on. I’ll get it in a second.” That second would go a lot faster if the dog food and bowls weren’t currently in boxes, and his feet weren’t boxed by eight hungry animals. Will unpacks and feeds his dogs as quickly as he can before he goes back to the patio to sit.

“I can remember the days when I had a pet,” says a soft voice by Will’s ear. Hannibal sounds wistful with the barely-there sigh at the end of his sentence.

“Doctor Lecter. I didn’t hear you come out here.” Will takes a deep breath to conceal the fact that he’d been startled.  
“You were busy feeding your dogs. I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Hannibal pulls an empty chair next to Will’s and sits.

“You never struck me as the type to have a pet.” Will makes a clicking sound at the dogs and hopes his honesty doesn’t come across as an insult.

“I used to have a cat named Freja when I was just a boy. The orphanage tried to keep me from having her because it was too much work. Then my uncle took me to France after my little sister died and he wouldn’t let me keep her.” Will detects the sorrow that Hannibal tries to keep out of his words. “Freja was such a good cat, too. But that was a long time ago. Tell me about your childhood pets, Will.”

Will snorts a laugh. “It was pretty much like it is now. I collected strays. My house was full of the dogs I took in from the streets.” He laughs at a memory of a white dog chasing the neighbor’s cat from the garden. “My favorite was a little brown and grey one named Stella. She was a good dog. Then my parents accidentally ran her over.” Will doesn’t tell any more stories of his dogs.

The silence stretches between the two men for what feels like an eternity, though it’s only a few minutes. Will squirms uncomfortably but he’s not sure if it’s from the silence or the less-than-pleasant memory.

“I’m going to go cook dinner,” Hannibal announces as he stands. “You’re welcome to join me now or when it’s finished.”

Will follows Hannibal into the house and locks the door behind him. The dogs will be fine for a few more hours, if not until morning. His food is just as important as theirs.

“What are we eating tonight?” Will asks.

“It will be a surprise,” Hannibal says. “I never announce what I’m serving until it is served.”

Surprises are fine, Will thinks. At least he doesn’t have to cook. Instant noodles are only good for so long and so many times in a row. Fish is the same way. A home cooked meal is always a nice treat.

Will doesn’t know whether to go into the kitchen with Doctor Lecter or not, so he waits for an invitation.

“Would you like something to drink while you wait?” Hannibal holds up a dark bottle of even darker liquid. “This is my favorite.”

Eh, what can it hurt? “Yeah, I’ll have a glass, I suppose.”

Hannibal pours two glasses, asks about Will’s most recent case. Will declines the topic as politely as he can manage, which is outright telling Doctor Lecter that the case isn’t something he wants to even think about. And it’s true. The case is particularly grotesque: four children were gutted and carved up, displayed like fine centerpieces, and they still haven’t caught the killer.

“You k now, this case is really hard for me,” Will says after a minute, even though he didn’t want to talk. “I can’t—I don’t… This guy is too crazy. I can’t stand watching myself killing those kids, even though I know I’m not the one doing it.” He stands up and drains half of his glass in one gulp to calm his stupid nerves. “Crawford won’t listen to me. This case is destroying me, Doctor Lecter. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to take this one.”

“Jack Crawford is a stubborn man,” Hannibal says, and he puts down the bowl of whatever it is he’s stirring. “He has the best intentions and you are the best man for the job.”

“I don’t care what Jack’s intentions are!” Will shouts. “I just want to be off his team and back in my classroom.” He wipes a shaking hand across his forehead and exhales. “I’m sorry for shouting, Doctor. This is all just too much for me to handle.”

“There is no need to apologize, Will. Have you ever thought about quitting Jack Crawford’s team?” Hannibal pours a bowl of liquid into another bowl of liquid.

Will scoffs, begins pacing. “Do you think he’ll listen to me? I’ve already quit twice, and look where it got me!” He gestures wildly with his hands and arms, waving them at nothing in particular.

Hannibal catches the flailing appendages from behind. He crosses Will’s arms like he’s in a straitjacket and pulls the man against his chest as tightly as he can without cutting off airflow. “I need you to breathe for me, Will. Can you do that? Focus on breathing.” Will fights the restraint at first, but he forces himself to breathe. “Good. You need to calm down. Repeat after me. It is eight twenty-three pm. You are in Baltimore, Maryland. Your name is Will Graham.”

Will repeats and falls lax in Hannibal’s grip. He takes a few more deep breaths before he’s released. “I’m sorry, Doctor Lecter,” he mutters.

“No need to apologize, Will. Please sit so you don’t hurt yourself.” Hannibal returns to his meal.

The rest of dinner is quiet. Too quiet, Will thinks, but he doesn’t want to talk about anything else. The only sound is the clink of silverware and crystal.

“I’m afraid I have to ask, did you see Garrett Jacob Hobbs during your brief episode?” Hannibal asks when they’re finished.

“No,” Will says, and it’s a relief he didn’t.

“Good. I’ll start some tea as soon as the dishes are finished and put away.”

It seems awful early to be going to bed, even though Will usually lies down around 8:30. There’s just nothing about Hannibal that says ‘goes to bed at a decent and human hour.’ Then Will glances at the kitchen clock and it isn’t as early as he thought it was.

The hour draws upon 11 when Hannibal returns with a steaming mug full of dark liquid. “Drink up,” he instructs and Will does. They don’t speak again until the mug is emptied, washed, and set to dry.

“Go ahead to the bedroom,” Hannibal says. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Will undresses himself in the psychiatrist’s bedroom, his brain hazy from the tea. He barely remembers to fold his jeans nicely and put them on the chair. A bed never looked so comfortable…

Hannibal closes the bedroom door when he arrives. His hand lingers on the light switch. “Get yourself comfortable and I’ll turn off the lights.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Will shoots Hannibal a thumbs-up once he’s situated, then can’t tell if it’s dark because his eyes are closed or if it’s just because the lights went out. He barely feels Hannibal against him, but still mumbles “Good night, Doctor Lecter” into the other man’s chest.

\--

Will drives to Quantico after breakfast because he’d promised Crawford he’d be there. He gets some weird looks from the detective but ignores them. Jack drives the rest of the way to the newest crime scene.

“Is what we’re hearing true?” is the first question Will’s presence is graced with.

He tries to keep his annoyed huff to himself. “And what is it that you’re hearing?”

Zeller’s grin is almost predatory. “Well, for starters, we hear that you and your dogs have shacked up with Hannibal Lecter.”

“Is that so? I choose not to grace that with an answer.” Will snaps on a pair of gloves offered by a nameless officer at his side. “It’s none of your business.”

Jimmy Price and Beverly Katz exchange a look before Beverly sighs and takes out her wallet. That’s less than enlightening, Will groans to himself. They took freaking bets. Unbelievable. He forces himself to focus on the gruesome scene before him. Crawford’s voice in the background means nothing.

\--

_I grab the girl from behind. Her friends are too busy to notice I’ve taken her. They’ll think she got up to go use the bathroom or something. She screams and tries to fight, but I’m bigger. I knock her out with a blow to the back of the head._

_Her small body is relatively easy to carry to my van. She won’t wake up for a while, so I drive to an abandoned warehouse to wait. It’s far enough from the town that nobody will hear her screams._

_When she wakes up, I take her eyes out with a spoon. She screams the entire time I work, and it’s really infuriating, so I slice out her tongue and watch as she bleeds out from her mouth._

_I slice her open, starting at the vee of her collarbones and working down to her pelvis. Then I remove all of her organs so they don’t end up damaged. I place them in a bowl and crack her rips open with a neat split to create a basket. I return the organs to that basket, saving the heart, tongue, and eyeballs for last. The tongue and eyeballs go back in her mouth to create the image of a Christmas pig._

_This is my design._

\--

Will shudders and exhales a shaky breath. He doesn’t want to say this one is the worst, even though he knows it is. All he does is shake his head and walk away. He’ll answer questions later, when he isn’t looking at the mutilated corpse of a seven-year-old girl. Cases involving children are the worst. Will lets Crawford know his discomfort by going to the car and staying there until the body is removed from the scene.

“You don’t have to talk until you’re ready,” Crawford says once he joins Will in the FBI’s car.

“Yes, I _know_ that.” Will doesn’t intend for his answer to be as short and snappy as it is, but doesn’t apologize for his tone. He shakes out two aspirin from the bottle that’s always in his pocket and swallows them dry. “The fact is that I still have to talk about it, and I don’t like that this case involves children. It’s far too disturbing to stand to the side as I watch myself desecrate their bodies. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to the lab.” He doesn’t speak again until they’re back at Quantico.

“I’ve matched fibers from her clothing to fibers on the clothing of the others,” Beverly says. “It’s the same kind as the carpeting used in commercial vans. We’re looking for somebody who probably works for a school district and has access to something of the sort.”

“Somebody like a janitor or a district worker,” Will says, breaking his silence. “They sometimes need vans to transport larger cleaning supplies or things like desks.” He ignores what will be a huge headache, taking another aspirin like it’s a candy. “Jack, I’m sure my brain will be of no further use at the moment. Can I please go now?”

“Fine.” Crawford crosses his arms, unamused. “We’ll call you if something else comes up.”

Will all but bolts from the lab and drives an hour to Baltimore. The silence isn’t as comforting as it should be, and the noise inside Will’s head doesn’t help a damn thing. He turns the stereo on, puts it on a classical station. It helps some.

Hannibal’s front door is unlocked when he arrives even though the man is probably with a patient. Will enters anyway and goes directly to his guest room, stopping only to drop his car keys in the bowl by the front door. The faint sound of classical music works to calm the threatening migraine.

Closing the bedroom door would stifle the already quiet music, so Will opts to leave it open and goes to lie on the bed. He clasps his hands over his eyes. Stupid Crawford, dragging him back into the field. Stupid Crawford for not listening. Stupid Crawford for being Crawford, really.

A soft knock on the door announces Hannibal’s presence. Will groans and forces himself to sit up. Is it so late already?

“I’m going to start preparing dinner shortly,” the doctor says. “You’re welcome to join me now if you would like.”

Will reluctantly follows Hannibal downstairs to the kitchen. At first glance, the flight of stairs is dark and daunting, the little bit of light pulsing in time with Will’s heart. He shakes his head and continues.

“Would you like to talk about the case?” Hannibal asks once they reach the kitchen.

“No, Doctor Lecter. I most certainly do not want to talk about this case.” Will slumps down in the first chair he can get to and puts his pounding head in his hands. “Dealing with it and talking to Jack Crawford about it are enough for one day.”

“Will, you need to understand that repressing these violent memories can only do harm to your mental stability.” Hannibal puts something sweet-smelling in a pan.

“I’m already unstable as it is,” Will snaps. “Talking about it isn’t going to help anything. Not talking about it won’t make my condition any worse.

Hannibal adds something that smells like licorice to the pan. “That may be true. However, I think it best to not risk further deterioration of your already crumbling mental state. Should you change your mind, I will listen.”

Will refuses to say another word on the matter. He changes the subject to Abigail, who is still in the psych ward of the hospital.

“I have not spoken with Abigail recently,” Hannibal says. “I assume she is doing well considering there have been no calls about her climbing the walls.”

A laugh disguised as a cough from Will. “That’s something, I guess.”

After dinner and tea, Will still refuses to say anything about the case. Hannibal’s attempts at helping Will are futile. The man outright ignores anything involving the phrases ‘talking about it’ and ‘mental health.’

“I truly fear for the invalid state of your brain, Will.” It’s Hannibal’s last try at putting any sort of sense into the other’s head.

“The invalid state of my brain? Is that just your polite way of calling me an invalid?” Will cuts Hannibal off before he can even say a word in his defense. “I am not an invalid, Doctor Lecter. Good night.” With that, he storms off to the guest bedroom.

Will wakes up sometime around two in the morning to a heavy weight on his chest. He half-expects it to be Hannibal, forcing him into an unwanted cuddle-therapy session. It isn’t. Unless Hannibal now looks like Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Which Will highly doubts, even in his altered state.

“See?” Hobbs hisses.

Will thrashes to get out of the dead-weight grip holding him to the bed. “No! Please no,” he cries out. His fight becomes a mantra of ‘please no please no.’

A flash like lightning and Garrett Jacob Hobbs disappears. A new weight takes his place.

“Will? Will. You need to wake up.” The gentle voice drags Hannibal from his nightmare. Hannibal moves back quickly to avoid being struck by the thrashing man on the bed.

“Doctor Lecter.” Will sits up, covered in sweat. “I think I ruined your bed. I’m sorry for waking you up. Hobbs…” he trails off into incoherence.

“You saw Garrett Jacob Hobbs? Don’t worry about my bed. It can be replaced. Come along. It does no good to sleep in sweat-soaked sheets. Hannibal holds out a hand to Will, who stares at it confused. “Come with me, Will.”

Will finally takes the hand and allows Hannibal to lead him out of the guest room. He follows the psychiatrist to the other bedroom, mumbling apologies for nearly everything.

“There is no need to apologize, Will,” Hannibal says once again. “Just get comfortable and go to sleep.

Will curls himself into the smallest ball he possibly can. “Good night, Doctor Lecter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversations about childhood pets and the unnecessary questioning from Zeller were suggested by IaBlMeanie:
> 
> More.. Maybe Hannibal and Will playing with the dogs in the yard and Hannibal telling Will about his childhood pets?  
> What happens when Will goes back to work and everyone knows he's been staying at Hannibal's house. What about the Kitchen!! A dog gets nosy because they can smell meat!
> 
> I know it isn't exactly that, but I tried.
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading and if there's something you want to see, please leave it in the comments. (:


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get... well, interesting.

Will wakes up to a different weight than what he’s used to. Bleary eyed and sleep drunk, he tries to focus on whatever it is holding him down and silently begs that it isn’t Hobbs again. No. This time it’s Hannibal. Or, rather, it’s Hannibal’s entire right side on Will’s left.

He wonders when during the night he ended up on his stomach with his hand under Hannibal’s chest. And when did Hannibal end up nearly on top of him? Actually, Will realizes, the question is, when did they end up so tangled together? He can’t even move anything without coming into contact with the other man.

Will finds himself unable to pick a reason to complain. It’s oddly comforting, save for the fact that he really needs to pee, to have Hannibal like that. The slow, deep breaths are relaxing. But the position is so unlike Hannibal that Will can’t help but laugh a little.

The action, Will realizes with horror, wakes Doctor Lecter. Oops. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Good morning, Will,” is the mumbled response.

“Good morning. Would you let me up, please?”

It’s only then that Hannibal realizes the fact that he’s all but pressed Will into his mattress. He gets up off the other man, trying not to laugh about the situation. That was never meant to happen.

Will gets up and bolts to the bathroom to relieve himself. When he returns to the bedroom, Hannibal has donned his robe over the silk pajamas and his normally impeccably tamed hair sticks up in all directions. It’s strange to see the psychiatrist so out of character.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” Hannibal asks. “I could use something to fill me up.”

“Absolutely,” Will agrees. “I could use a little filling up myself.”

Hannibal quickly makes sausage and mushroom omelets with red peppers. It smells delicious, and Will knows that it’ll taste just as great. Hannibal’s cooking always does. To Will, at least, it tastes like Heaven and home and something else he can never quite name so he gave up on trying. Even the coffee is a gift from God Himself.

“I believe now would be the time for me to inform you that I will accompany you to the crime lab today,” Hannibal says as he hands Will wet dishes to dry. “Last night proved that what you do is far from good for you.”

Will can’t argue that. “If only Jack Crawford saw it like that…” He doesn’t want to ask his next question, but the bug in the back of his mind demands an answer. “Speaking of last night, did anything happen that I wasn’t aware of?”

The question catches Hannibal off guard—a rare feat seeing as the man is always composed and ahead of everything else. “You mean aside from your episode of night terrors?” He waits for Will to nod before continuing. “No. I assure you, there was nothing.”

“I only asked because of the way we were when we woke up and because of my losing time thing.” Will shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. “You’d tell me if there was something, right?”

“Of course, Will. Now hurry and dress yourself or we’ll be late.”

Will goes upstairs to put on a fresh set of under clothing and tops it with his usual plaid and jeans. He assesses the damage done to the bed before picking up his shoes and going into the bathroom. There’s no time to properly shave, so he ignores the scruff and brushes his teeth.

“What do I owe you for ruining the guest bed?” he asks once he returns to the kitchen. “The sweat damage is pretty bad.”

“No worries, Will. I am not concerned about that right now. Feed your dogs, then we’ll leave.” Hannibal washes the empty coffee mugs.

“Yeah, but you haven’t seen it yet.”

“If you would like me to look while you’re outside, I will gladly do so.”

“Okay.” Will goes downstairs and outside to the patio where all the dogs are waiting patiently for him. They follow him to the bowls, waiting as patiently as they can while he scoops food into the eight bowls and somehow manages to feed them all at once. He decides he’ll clean up their messes later, after he gets back from work.

Hannibal is waiting for Will when he goes back in. “Are you ready to go?”

Will looks around to make sure he doesn’t need anything for work. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Come along, then. We don’t want to be late.”

The psychiatrist is right. Crawford’ll have Will’s head—probably mounted on antlers, Will thinks morbidly—if he’s late. Especially because of the missed day and all the other stuff that’s going on inside Jack’s head.

Hannibal tries to get Will to talk about his nightmare while he drives, but his attempts don’t get very far. (“Hobbs was there and he was trying to kill me. That’s all that happened,” is the snappy response he receives.) Will won’t say anything more, so Hannibal puts on some classical music and they finish the hour-long drive in silence.

Will warns Hannibal of the potential barrage of invasive questions courtesy Price, Zeller, and Katz before they enter the building. Half of it’s to mentally prepare himself with explanations because he knows Beverly won’t just take no for an answer. Neither will Jack, but that’s an entirely different story.

As anticipated, Beverly leaps on Will the second she gets him alone. She fires off question after question and Will does his best to answer all the ones he sees fit.

“No, we’re not dating. There isn’t even anything between us.” Will frowns and wishes Jack and Alana had never said anything.

“You mean, there isn’t anything between you other than the fact that you now live together.” Beverly scrapes a swatch of fabric with a stick. “Have you been inside his bedroom yet?”

Had Will been drinking anything, he would have sprayed it all over. “What kind of question is that? And why is this any of your business?”

“It’s a question to help me better understand the situation. Have you or not?”

“I have,” Will mumbles, desperately trying to find a way out of this conversation.

Beverly’s previously blank expression turns very animalistic, and if Will had to pick an animal to describe it, he’s pick a tiger. “Have you been in his bed?”

“Beverly, what the hell?!” Will bangs a fist down on the nearest solid object, which happens to be a metal table. “You know what? No. I’m done answering questions. I’ll see you at lunch.” And he turns to walk out.

“Will, wait! There’s only one more question. Why are you even there anyway?”

Will stops in the doorway. “As Doctor Lecter put it, I’m there for a different type of therapy.”

“What does that mean, a different type of therapy?”

But Will doesn’t hear because he’s halfway down the hallway.

As he walks into his classroom, the thought of earlier strikes him out of left field. It really wasn’t so bad waking up underneath Hannibal like that. Really, it was comforting and something worth getting used to. At least, to Will. Maybe Hannibal didn’t feel the same way on the matter. Will hopes he does, and then wonders why he hoped that.

He groans at his weirdness and sits behind his desk to prepare for the upcoming lesson. His thoughts wander off to Doctor Lecter when they should be on the topic of discussion. He wonders what lies under all those expensive layers of designer clothing,and what it would be like to be pinned to the kitchen counter, and that totally isn’t a strange thing to be thinking, and… oh. That is not the response Will expected. Ugh. At least there’s no one else in the room. Maybe he’ll just cancel the lecture.

Not with only ten minutes’ notice, Will realizes when he looks at the clock on the back wall. Well crap. There’s gotta be some way to fix the situation. Will scratches his arm sharply, digs his nails in until he’s left behind angry red stripes. It works.

Then Hannibal walks in. And the effort is wasted. Will lets out a noise of frustration.

“What are you doing here?” Will asks, not standing up. “I thought you were helping Alana with The Decorator’s profile.”

“I was.” Hannibal walks until he’s leaning against Will’s desk. “Then Jack Crawford asked me to come tell you that he cancelled all your lectures today and that we’re free to leave whenever. Would you like to go now?”

“Yeah. Just give me a minute to get my stuff together.” Will digs at his arm again and deepens the red marks. He knows Hannibal won’t buy it, seeing as nothing he carried in has been opened, but it’s worth a shot.

“I’ll bring the car around back” is the only response before Hannibal walks out. The air where he stood catches his scent when he turns. Will most definitely does not inhale it. Of course not. That would be crazy.

Will does, however, stand and shuffle his folders into his arms to carry them to Hannibal’s car. He may or may not be stalling, delaying the inevitable. Satisfied with his lagging, he finally slips out of the room and out the back exit.

Hannibal’s waiting, his car idling in the shade. Will quickly joins him in the passenger seat and puts his stuff on the floor between his feet. It will take no harm from the air conditioning, he decides.

They talk about the would-have-been lecture—determining angle and velocity of a gunshot based on blood spatter patterns—for the entirety of the drive to Baltimore. Hannibal’s comments on the matter are minimal. It’s hard to have an image-based discussion while driving, and he can always look later when they’re sitting at the table.

Except Will doesn’t want to talk any more once they get back. He goes straight outside to his dogs, where he stays for the morning, as is becoming routine. Hannibal comes outside while Will’s cleaning up the dog messes.

“Will, I’d like to speak with you about the case and your mental state,” the psychiatrist says once Will is no longer busy.

“Can we sit to do that?” Will wipes sweaty palms on jeans.

“Absolutely.” Hannibal moves the chairs so they can sit face- to-face.

Will doesn’t sit in the chair so much as he flops down gracelessly and undignified. “Tell you what, Doctor Lecter. I’ll tell you one thing for every one thing you tell me. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

“That’s just fine.” Hannibal sits. “I’ll start. You called this killer The Decorator. Why is that?”

“ _Jack Crawford_ calls him The Decorator,” Will corrects, “because the children are arranged like centerpieces at a table. My turn. Why do you want me to get better so badly?”

“You have a brilliant mind, Will, and it would be a horrible shame for it to shatter. My turn. How soon do you expect to catch this killer?”

“As soon as Beverly matches the fibers to a usable source. We’ll go from there. My turn. Why not just have me find someone who’ll stay in my home to stop the sleepwalking?” Will wipes his palms again, hoping the question wasn’t too blunt.

The space between Will and Hannibal shifts, takes on a slightly darker feel. Will fidgets with a string in his shirt. Maybe Hannibal doesn’t detect the new off-note when Will’s question tumbles into the air.

“Are you asking why I personally invited you to stay with me?” Hannibal’s demeanor is calm as ever and Will has no idea what—if anything—is going on inside the man’s head.

“If that’s how you want to look at it, yeah.” The spacious yard seems too far away and too close at the same time. Will thinks his heart might have skipped a beat during the constriction of the world.

“Why are you curious about that?” Hannibal asks, his voice the only thing keeping the world from choking Will entirely.

“Please just answer the question, Doctor Lecter.” Will puts his hands over his eyes as if to wipe them, but they just stay there. He stands up sharply, scraping his chair across the cement. “You know what, forget the question. I’m sorry I even asked.”

The ground tilts and shakes as Will moves to go inside. Doctor Lecter reaches out, catches the other man’s wrist. Will thinks he should fight the grip. Instinct says to, right? He doesn’t fight.

“Will, if you’ll grant me permission, I’d like to answer.” Hannibal’s words are barely audible over the thunder in Will’s ears.

“Okay.” Will takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“I invited you to stay with me because you are my friend.” Hannibal places one hand on either side of Will’s neck, his thumbs lingering on the other’s cheeks. “You’re also more than just my friend. I admire your brain and what you do with it.”

Will isn’t sure what to do with himself. He puts his hands on Hannibal’s arms and tries to avoid eye contact as much as he can. Hannibal’s grip makes that almost impossible, which sounds a panic alarm in the special agent’s head. Will releases a breath, glancing around like a frightened and vulnerable animal, before his eyes flicker up to Hannibal’s and stay.

“Will, your brain is amazing,” Hannibal continues. “The rest of you is simply a bonus.”

“Um.” The definite lack of personal space shuts off all brain activity. Will has never been so confined before, not even at a crime scene. He isn’t sure why the most logical solution seems to be kissing Hannibal, but it works.

Well, until Hannibal pulls him closer, further eliminating any sense of personal space. Except it’s okay because he’s only using it as a way to deepen the kiss. And then Will’s spiraling out of control, down into darkness, and he breaks the kiss with a gasp.

“Oh,” is the only coherent thought in Will’s head.

“If I may comment, that was rather enjoyable.” Hannibal traces his thumbs over Will’s cheekbones. The only response Will can give is a nod, and Hannibal laughs lightly. “Come. I’ll make an early lunch.”

Will, still lightheaded and wobbly, attempts to walk into Hannibal’s house. Wow. That was… not what he expected. He didn’t take the doctor as the kissing-back type. Not when it was like that, anyways. An apology bubbles up, and he clamps down on it just before it slips from his lips.

Hannibal steadies Will by placing a hand at the small of the other’s back and guides him inside. “I would not object if that were to happen again.”

“I’d like it to happen again,” Will admits, a little too freely for his own liking. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that all day.”

“Have you now?”

Will nods. “Yeah. And I’ve been meaning to tell you, the way you hold me when we sleep reminds me of college.”

“Interesting. Would you care to tell me more about it?”

“Uh. Not much to say, other than there was this girl I dated who clung like an octopus because I was the most stable thing in her life. I slept best the nights she stayed over.” Will shrugs. “That’s why I like staying here.”

“Would you like to lie on the couch after we eat?” Hannibal holds open the kitchen door for Will. “I’m sure there is enough room for the both of us to share.”

“I’d like that, yes.” Will sits in his usual chair at the counter.

“Do you mind just salad? I’m afraid I forgot to prepare anything again.”

“That’s fine. As long as I don’t have to make it, I’m alright with anything.” Will laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “Brick noodles get boring after a while.”

“I still don’t understand how anyone could put such trash into their body. And willingly at that.” Hannibal plates two neat salads and places one in front of Will. “Bon appetit.”

Will eats slowly, not wanting to seem too eager to cozy up on the couch with Hannibal. He washes and dries his own dishes once he’s finished, then walks with Hannibal to the office where there are couches. They settle in on one of the larger pieces of furniture.

It’s odd, Will thinks, that he’s still fully clothed. Not that he cares, really. There’s not a lot of time to care because he’s drifting to blackness. The last thing he feels is Hannibal shifting barely closer to press a cautious kiss to the back of his neck. He fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading, and you're welcome to leave suggestions in the comments.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things take a turn.
> 
> **Please note that this chapter required me to slightly alter the fourth chapter. It's only one line, but it'll make a little more sense if you go back and read four again**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: biting and blood play, (As in, finally, the moment we've all been waiting for)

Will wakes around seven to something warm and soft on the back of his neck. He sighs, contented, and opens his eyes. How he missed the fingers in his hair, he'll never know.

"Oh. You're awake," Hannibal says. He leaves his hand in Will's hair a moment longer. "Are you hungry?"

"'M always hungry," Will mumbles before rolling out of Hannibal's grasp. He stretches once he's on his feet, idly scratching his stomach.

Hannibal chuckles and stands up. He straightens the wrinkles in his suit that came from sleeping in it. "I'll go make something quick. Please come with me. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Will yawns as he follows Hannibal to the kitchen. He wonders, as any person would, what will be served. It could be a stack of 99-cent burgers from the joint at the center of town and he'd still be happy. Not that Hannibal would ever do that, of course, but it's just a thought.

Actually, it's a really funny thought and Will can't help but laugh. He doubles over, clutching his sides until there are tears in his eyes.

"What is the matter, dear Will?" Hannibal stops and turns around.

Will holds up a finger and tries to stop laughing long enough to explain what's so funny. It takes a solid minute before he trusts himself to speak. "I just had a thought of you serving 99-cent burgers for dinner." He cracks up again though the ache in his abdominal muscles protests the action.

"I'm glad you find such amusement in an event that will never happen." But Hannibal's smiling when he says it. "Come on. Let's get you into a chair before you hurt yourself from laughing so hard." He assists Will to the kitchen.

"What was it you wanted to talk about, Doctor Lecter?" Will asks once he can properly breathe.

"I was hoping to discuss the current situation." Hannibal takes a package of something from the fridge and places it on the counter top. Closer inspection reveals two very large mushroom tops.

"You mean the kiss and all." The brief memory flashes in Will's mind, and he's filled with something he can't identify. Mostly it feels like happiness. Will can live with that.

"Yes. Why do you think it happened?" Hannibal forces eye contact. "In your own opinion, of course."

"It happened because I panicked and you let it." Will's snappy, and he can't decide if he means it or not.

"You might have panicked, yes, but I didn't simply let it happen. If I was just letting it happen, do you think I would have kissed you back?"

Will breaks the gaze, looks down at his hands. "No," he mumbles. "I wasn't in the right state of mind, and it shouldn't have happened like that."

"Then, if I may ask, how do you think it should have happened?" Hannibal wipes his hands on a towel that he tosses over his shoulder. He turns to face Will.

It isn’t until he's standing in front of Hannibal that Will realizes he's moved from the chair. His eyes lock with the doctor's; he searches for any sort if indication of the other man's thoughts. There's nothing, and Will isn't sure why he expected anything different.

"It was supposed to happen like this, Doctor Lecter." Will leans forward slowly, leaving plenty of opportunity for Hannibal to push him away, to press his mouth to the other's.

The kiss is soft and short, not like the first. Hannibal doesn't kiss back immediately this time, leaving control in Will's possession. Will moves away after a second because he doesn't want to push comfort boundaries.

"It was supposed to be just like that, right here in the kitchen," Will says, a little breathless. "Well, there's more, but I'll leave it at that."

"Let me make dinner, then tell me all about it." Hannibal runs his fingers through the other man's hair.

"Yeah. Okay." Will goes back to the chair and sits. He doesn't pay attention to what's going on, the kiss playing over and over in his head. If only all kisses were that good...

The rest of the fantasy comes along after the fourth repeat: Hannibal taking control and pinning Will against the counter top. It sends a shiver down Will's spine. He shifts in the chair and hopes it will become reality at some point.

"Will?" Hannibal's voice bleeds into Will's thoughts. "Are you with me, Will?"

Will snaps back to reality, leaving the fantasy in his thoughts where it belongs. "Yeah. I was just thinking. That's all."

"If you'll join me in the dining room, we can talk about it." Hannibal carries out two plates of steaming something-or-other and Will follows

After they're seated, Hannibal prompts Will to talk about the kiss. Will does so between bites and sips of wine.

"Well, it starts like I just showed you." Will scratches his head, embarrassed. "Uh. This gets kind of long. You may want to eat first so your food doesn't get cold." Will shoves a bite of mushroom into his mouth and chomps down sharply to avoid speaking.

"We can eat while you talk," Hannibal says, seeing straight through Will. "I assure you, nothing you say will be shocking to me."

Will clears his throat, sips his wine. "Well. Okay. So after the first time in the kitchen, we stay that way for a minute. But then, uh, I grab onto your arms and kiss you again. You put your hands on my shoulders." Another sip of wine to calm his pulse. Will looks at Hannibal to see the man's reaction.

"What happens next?" Hannibal brings a bite of lettuce to his lips, analytical as ever.

"After that, you flip me so my back is against the counter and I'm in your place." Will's flushed, and it is certainly not the work of the alcohol (though it does help). He shifts again to get comfortable. It doesn't work, so he resorts to the scratching thing.

"And then what?"

Will stalls again, shoving more mushroom into his mouth. He takes his time chewing because the next part is awkward and embarrassing and way more arousing than it should be. "Then, uh... you... God, I can't believe I'm saying this. I never thought I'd have to say this. Ever. Then you dominate me right there. You make me completely yours." He coughs, face redder than the wine in his glass. That was the most awkward conversation in the history of Will's awkward conversations.

"I see." Hannibal inhales deeply. "Are you finished with your dinner?"

Will nods. "Yeah. I'll help with the dishes."

"Are you sure I can trust you in the kitchen?" Hannibal chuckles and pushes away from the table.

"I can control myself, Doctor Lecter." Will laughs too, and carries his plate to the kitchen.

Hannibal goes with Will to the sink. "Should we take dessert here? Or should we eat by the fire?"

"It depends on where you'd like." Will puts his dirty dishes in the sink and runs water over them. He takes Hannibal's and does the same, washing them while Hannibal's gets the dessert from the fridge.

"Let's sit by the fire," the psychiatrist says. "It's a bit too cold in the dining room"

"Okay. Let me finish rinsing these dishes and I'll be right there."

"Don't worry about them. My household chores are not yours to do." Hannibal motions with his elbow to come on.

"True, but I think it's impolite." Will dries his hands after unplugging the sink drain. He scurries off after Hannibal to find him already in the living room.

There's a table set in front of the fireplace, along with the loveseat from near the wall. Two plates, neatly covered with the finest chocolate mousse cake, are on the table. It looks amazing as always.

"I'd like to ask you something, Will, and I need an honest answer," Hannibal says once they're seated and eating.

“Can I kiss you first?” Will asks sheepishly.

It’s like a new addiction, kissing Hannibal. But Will doesn’t care.

“If you would like to, I see no reason to deny you.” Hannibal places his spoon on the empty plate and turns to Will.

The kiss is almost desperate, like Hannibal is a floatation device in a stormy ocean and Will’s fighting to keep hold of it. He grabs at Hannibal and clings, savoring the taste of chocolate in their breath.

“That was good,” Will whispers when they separate. “Anyway, what was your question?”

“Well, obviously there is attraction between us, and it’s mutual,” Hannibal says. “I thought there was only one solution to the situation. Would you like to be my partner?”

It takes a second for it to dawn on Will. “You mean, like, dating?”

“Something like that, yes.” Hannibal cautiously places a hand on Will’s face.

“Isn’t that against protocol or something?” Will covers Hannibal’s hand with his own, leans into the touch.

“What do you mean?” Hannibal frowns slightly.

“I’m a patient, Doctor Lecter.” Dejection creeps into Will’s voice. He tries to swallow it down, but it’s too late.

“Not of the conventional type, and not officially.” Hannibal punctuates his sentences with kisses. “And if all else fails, we can keep it a secret.”

Will takes a very long handful of minutes thinking about the offer. Hannibal’s right, though. They wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.

But what would Crawford and the rest of the team think? Who cares what they think, Will says to himself.

“I haven’t been in a real relationship in years, but I’ll try if you’ll help with my lack of skills,” Will finally says with a smile.

“You’ll have to tell me when something makes you uncomfortable. Well, we’ll discuss rules and boundaries later. For now, I’ll take care of the dishes and we can sit awhile.” Hannibal strokes Will’s cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be right back.”

Will curls up in Hannibal’s vacated spot and waits for him to come back. He watches the fire as it leaps and twists against the logs. It’s oddly hypnotic to watch the flames dance, and somehow, it reminds Will of Hannibal.

“May I have my seat back, please?” Hannibal puts his hand lightly on Will’s head.

“And why should I let you?” Will counters with a grin.

“Because if you don’t, I’m left with two options, and I don’t know that you’ll like either of them.” Hannibal grins back. “One, I can sit on your head, which will be very uncomfortable for you, or I can just kick you and all your dogs out and never allow you back here again. Or, the pleasant alternative, you just sit up and give me my place back. It’s your choice.”

Will doesn’t relent immediately. He crosses his arms as a test, but he’s too tired to really tease back. “Okay, fine. You win.” He moves so Hannibal can sit. After the other man’s seated, Will puts his head in his lap.

Hannibal plays with the thick curls until Will rolls onto his back. “Tell me, Will, in your fantasies, how do I dominate you?”

The sound that comes from Will’s mouth is somewhere between a cough and the word ‘gack,’ almost like he’s choking. “I thought we were done talking about that.” He scowls.

“Call it curiosity. I really do want to know.”

“Um.” Will huffs. “Well, you lick and suck and bite. Everywhere you can reach, from my neck to my ankles. I’m covered in your markings by the time you’re done. Sometimes you scratch, too.”

Something in Hannibal’s eyes darkens. “Really now?”

Will flushes. “Yeah.” He covers his face with his hands.

“Do not be ashamed. It’s perfectly natural.”

“I know, I know,” Will groans. “It’s just awkward as hell.”

Hannibal uncovers the red face hidden by hands. “Don’t let it be awkward, Will. It happens to everyone.”

“I’m tired. Is it bedtime yet?” Will shifts to alleviate the sudden pressure in his jeans.

“Go ahead on up. I’ll rearrange this room before I come up. It should be no more than ten minutes. Fifteen at the very most.” Hannibal brings Will’s hand to his face, kisses slightly callused fingertips that smell faintly of metal.

Will rolls gracelessly from the couch, flopping on to his hands and knees to keep from faceplanting in the carpet. “Smooth, Will,” he mutters to himself before making his way up to the bedroom.

He can hardly keep his eyes open to undress himself. The red lines from throughout the day glare in the dim light of the bedroom. Will goes over them again, the dull red springing to life again.

After that, it’s all routine: wash face, brush teeth. One last bladder release before bed. Satisfied, Will crawls into the bed to wait for Hannibal. The mattress welcomes him like it’s where he belongs.

The last thing Will registers is a soft goodnight kiss before his eyes droop closed for the night.

When Will opens his eyes again, he’s in the kitchen. He glances around for Hannibal and finds him near the counter drying dishes. Will laughs at himself for expecting the man to be anywhere but the kitchen.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal says and turns around.

Will doesn’t respond, just rushes forward and claims the doctor’s mouth with bruising force. It comes as no surprise to Hannibal, who kisses back with equal force and need. The kiss isn’t a kiss so much as it’s a clash of teeth and tongue and lips. But it isn’t enough for Will.

He presses himself flush against Hannibal, standing on the balls of his feet to get a better angle. His balance falters when he leans too far, dangerously close to hurting Hannibal should he fall. A surge of adrenaline and panic. Hurting Hannibal is the last thing Will wants to do.

Will reaches out to stop himself before he bends Hannibal over backwards. He grips the muscles of the taller man’s arms, digs his fingers in just a little bit. Oh, yeah. That’s good. Will moans into Hannibal’s mouth when he feels hands at his hips.

The flip takes him completely by surprise. Will gasps when the edge of the counter digs into his spine. Hannibal moves away for a moment of catching breath.

“Please,” Will pants, now aware of the constricting grip of his jeans. He has no idea what he wants Hannibal to do, as long as it’s something and it happens soon.

Hannibal’s body heat floods through Will where they touch. Will lets out a low groan when teeth graze the skin of his throat.

“Is this what you want, Will? Me to mark you as mine?” Hannibal purrs, trailing long fingers to the buttons of Will’s shirt.

“Yes.” Will rolls his hips up to find friction in the closeness of bodies. “I want you. Make me yours.”

Hannibal does the buttons painfully slowly. He works through them one at a time, never pushing the fabric away. It’s stupid how calculated each little movement is, Will thinks.

“Need you… now.” It’s hardly more than a breath, a whisper only Hannibal can hear. Only meant for Hannibal to hear.

Will ruts shamelessly against the psychiatrist’s leg, desperate to find release. It isn’t the same as direct contact, but it’ll do for now.

Hannibal bites down sharply on the meat of Will’s shoulder and the metallic scent of blood fills the air. Will groans when Hannibal sucks at the wound, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. It’s unlike anything will has ever felt; he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

The slow burning beginning in Will’s stomach is a good thing. Its heat spreads through his limbs, so close to the end…

Hannibal grips his jaw tightly, forcing eye contact. There’s blood in the corners of his mouth. Will wants to lick it off, but he can’t move. His eyes meet Hannibal’s, the darkness within them a bit startling.

“Hannibal,” Will groans. The heat has spread to the tips of his fingers and toes. Right there on the edge.

Will’s climax is violently ripped away when he wakes up in the dark of Hannibal’s room, breathing heavily. He’s sweated through another shirt, the thought of which is less than appealing, and feels generally gross. Damn it.

“Are you awake now, Will?” Hannibal asks softly, no doubt reaching for the lamp. He sounds like he’s been awake for a while.

“Oh, God. Did I wake you up?” Will pushes himself into a sitting position, kicking away sheets and blankets. Every inch of fabric sticks to his skin and it’s disgusting.

When he moves, a thick bitter smell fills the air and he feels like gagging. Ugh. Hannibal seems to enjoy it, though.

“I thought you were having another episode,” Hannibal says. “I was ready to wake you up.” He tosses the covers away, throwing them down to the floor. “Oh, dear. There’s more than I thought there was. I’ll go get a rag.”

Will looks where Hannibal was, confused as to why a rag would be necessary. The sticky mess of white answers the question. Those generally don’t clean themselves up. Realization dawns on Will.

“I am so sorry that happened,” Will says when Hannibal returns with two wet cloths. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

The word ‘embarrassed’ was invented for similar situations, but it isn’t enough for Will. Maybe ‘mortified’ is a better word. That’s never happened before.

“I didn’t know how you would have reacted,” Hannibal says as he mops up the mess in his bed. “And I found it slightly amusing.”

“Amusing?!” Will splutters. White rage burns in his veins.

“I don’t mind you doing that, you know. Just make sure you’re awake next time. Here. Clean yourself.” He hands Will the clean rag.

Will mutters apologies the entire time he wipes himself off. He apologizes for everything from failing to clean up the yard to ruining now two sets of fine silk sheets.

Hannibal puts his finger on Will’s lips to silence him. “If I was worried about any of this, I would have already sent you packing. “It’s just a small mess, and bound to happen sooner or later.”

“At least let me pay to replace one set,” Will protests.

“Will, hush. I won’t allow it. Come on. I’ll wash the bedding in the morning. We’ll sleep in the other room tonight.” Hannibal holds out a hand for the rag.

“I’ll go change really quick. There’s no point sleeping in soiled clothing.” Will pads down the hallway into the guest room to take off the sticky, nasty fabric.

He waits for Hannibal before he gets into the bed. The sheets have been changed since last night, the sweat stain covered. Hannibal arrives shortly after Will is finished changing and motions for Will to get into bed.

“I’ll take care of the laundry tomorrow,” he says. “For now, let us sleep.”

Snuggled in comfortably, Hannibal pulls the blanket up to their shoulders. He kisses Will goodnight and turns off the light. Will doesn’t dream again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everybody who read, who commented, and who left kudos on this. It's the first thing I've finished in a while.
> 
> If you liked this, keep an eye out for the sequel, Hannibal Lecter's On Unconventional Methods of Therapy, within the next week or two.

**Author's Note:**

> I put the question mark in the number of chapters because I'm not sure how long this is going to be yet.
> 
> If there's anything you want to see happen, leave it in the comments below and I'll do my best.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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